


Misconceptions

by Huggle



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angst, Community: Meme of Interest, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-12
Updated: 2013-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-26 10:01:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/964649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huggle/pseuds/Huggle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carter sees something between Fusco and Finch that sends her protective instinct for John into overdrive.  Finch has some explaining to do, but Carter's intervention has him deciding it's time to take a chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misconceptions

Carter took her card out of her wallet and slid it across the counter to the store owner. 

“Anything you can remember, please, call me. My office and cell numbers are both on this card.”

The man took it, but Carter already knew the card would be tossed as soon as she walked out of the store. She had a feel for when she could expect people to co-operate, and this guy was too scared to think about it. That suggested he had gotten a good look at her suspect, the bastard who’d beaten an elderly couple to death across the street when they’d been a little slow handing over their valuables.

Maybe the suspect had gotten a good look at him. If he thought his silence would buy his safety, he was probably wrong.

She guessed for the next few days, she’d be driving past his store as often as she could.

Surrendering, she left the store and started for where she’d parked the car. Next stop was back to the precinct to finish her paperwork from that morning and then a meeting with the lieutenant bemoaning the cost of her CIs. Pointing out her case clearance rate – due in no small part to those same CIs – would probably not help.

Her boss didn’t like it when she did unreasonable things like introduce facts into an argument.

As she reached the car, the honk of a horn drew her attention. Somebody was taking too long to get out of a parking space, and getting some grief over it. Joss watched for a few moments, until the offending car pulled away, in case it spilled over into something else. People lost their temper too easily these days, over things that were just not worth it.

But it was because of that display of angry impatience that she saw the two men.

Fusco held the door open for Finch, letting him leave the restaurant first. They paused on the sidewalk, Finch saying something, Fusco leaning in close to hear it. His hand was on Finch’s elbow and it tightened a little as Finch spoke into his ear.

Carter frowned. No John in sight – what could those two be up to? Had she blundered across them working a case? She still marvelled a little that all this time Fusco had been working for them behind the scenes, how artfully she and her partner had been ‘managed’ to prevent them finding out about each other.

It still rankled, just a bit, but she supposed for someone with John’s trust issues it made sense to keep everything compartmentalised.

It had also almost gotten him killed, that little spat in the bathroom when she’d found Fusco on the phone in a cubicle being a delay John couldn’t afford.

Still, they’d got there in time – to save John at least – but Finch had been okay and so everything had turned out alright.

Which was just as well. Because she was sure that if they hadn’t got him back, John would have either gone postal and went on a suicide mission or just disappeared back into the life he’d been living when she’d first met him.

She wondered if Finch knew just how much he meant to John. 

When she saw his lips impart a brief kiss to Fusco’s cheek, she almost keeled over. 

_Guess not_ , she thought. _Guess not_.  
::

She didn’t see Fusco again until the back of four, by which time her paperwork had doubled and she’d received four calls from cases her partner was handling.

She wondered if his absence was because he was currently handling something else.

After seeing the kiss, she’d stood there – indecisive, a little too stunned to do anything even if she knew what. Not like her at all, but then given she’d just seen the two most unlikely people in a moment of physical affection she was going to cut herself some slack.

By the time she decided to cross the street, the pedestrian and vehicular traffic had served as cover and both men were gone. Lost among the crowds. 

Whether together or whether they’d gone their own separate ways, she had no idea.

“I was about to put an APB out on you,” she said, as Fusco sat down. 

“Didn’t know you had two kids,” Fusco retorted, but there was no heat in it. Why would there be? He didn’t know she’d seen his little PDA of earlier. “Much going on?”

“Enough.” She lifted a heap of folders and waved them at him. Fusco held out a hand and Carter took the top ten and passed them over. “So, where you been?”

Fusco grimaced. “I made the mistake of giving my card to this old lady who got burgled last month. Now every time her floor boards creak or her radiators get a touch of gas she thinks it’s a home invasion.”

“You’re too sweet, Fusco,” Joss said, and it was too late to keep the acid out of her voice.

Fusco stared at her, a little non-plussed. “Yeah, if you say so. Something going on, Carter?”

“Just work,” she said, and ignored him until the shift was over at five.

::

She spent the rest of the night doing mom things – helping her son with his homework, then sorting the laundry and finishing painting the ceiling in the kitchen. It wasn’t going to do itself, and putting it off was only increasing her reluctance to get it done.

In between she checked the clean phone John had given her, wishing he’d call or text so she had some pretence to speak to him.

If she got in touch first, he’d know something was up. He’d think it was something with her or Taylor and then he’d be at her door.

He’d probably help her finish the kitchen, and Taylor wouldn’t mind seeing him again, but she hated dangling family in front of him. It just seemed so cruel.

And anyway, what would she say to him either on the phone or in person? 

_How are you, John? Everything ok? Please tell me you’re not even platonically in love with Finch because then I might have to shoot my partner. And maybe yours_.

It was not a conversation she could imagine having with him, no matter what happened.

And if she couldn’t have it with him, that left only one alternative.

::

Off duty, she took to following Fusco. Not all the time, just as often as she could. Despite what was apparently going on, she had a life. Taylor needed picking up from school, and he needed fed, and often she had to take work home.

And sometimes she was sharing tailing duties with John, or threatening people at gunpoint on his behalf when he overestimated his ability to control a fight. That didn’t happen very often but she wondered who had stepped in for him before she’d come on the scene.

Fusco? She doubted it. Probably too busy making goo goo eyes at John’s boss.

She watched Fusco come out of a bar and followed him down the street at a discreet distance. You need to reign this in, Joss, she told herself. Angry equalled stupid, and stupid equalled making mistakes.

She was going to make Fusco and Finch see this mistake for what it was when she finally caught up them both at the same time. If what she’d seen outside the restaurant had been the real deal, then she would sooner or later.

::

It was sooner, as it happened. She watched as Fusco slammed his gun into the back of some guy’s head and then cuffed him as he lay stunned on the ground. Finch was standing there, breathing hard, with that perpetually stunned look on his face.

Carter advanced, holstering her weapon, at a slower pace now she knew the threat had been dealt with.

Pity her temper hadn’t.

“No victory embrace?” she snapped. They both jumped at her voice. “Don’t you know, Fusco, hero always gets the girl.”

Finch gave her a puzzled look. “Detective Carter, have you been following me?”

“No, I was following him, and after seeing your little cutesy kiss outside of the restaurant I figured sooner or later I’d catch you together again.”

“Wait, together? What?” Fusco glared at her. “You even know what you’re saying?”

“I know,” she said. She grabbed Fusco by the lapels of his jacket. “What’s wrong with you? You don’t have eyes? And you! I know you’re not stupid so you have to be the coldest SOB I’ve ever laid eyes on.” 

Joss pointed furiously at Finch. Fusco took her distraction as an opportunity to free himself. He stepped back, eyes hard.

“You taking your cues from The Suit?” he demanded. “He’d know better than this, though.”

Finch was suddenly between them. “Much as I think all of us calming down is the best way forward, here, I have to agree with Detective Fusco. You do seem to have come to an erroneous conclusion, Detective Carter. I take it you’re referring to the kiss outside of Camero’s.”

“There’s been others?” She hated the way her voice starting pitching up into levels of hysteria but it seemed wrong for him to be so calmly stating the case. Not when this was going to stomp all over John.

“No, one was sufficient.”

“Hey,” Fusco protested, and then coloured. “Yeah, I mean. Just. Oh, fuck it. You two sort this out.”

He hauled the cuffed man to his feet, and Carter saw him clearly for the first time. Quite a bruiser, all muscle straining at the seams of his fancy suit. Fusco dragged him to his squad car and took off.

“It would appear you’re now my ride,” Finch said.

“Gentleman would have seen his date home,” Carter retorted, because it was too good an opening to pass up. “I don’t think he’s a keeper, Finch.”

Finch stared at her – damn it, he was rolling his eyes without actually doing it. 

“The gentleman Fusco just took into custody is called Marco Salierli,” Finch said. Carter started to speak but he didn’t give her the chance to interrupt. “When his number came up, I thought it was because of his criminal record – several allegations of aggravated assault, molestation and harassment. He appeared to be targeting a certain section of society.”

It was dawning, slowly. “Right.”

But Finch’s face took on a pinched look. “Not exactly. He might have harboured that predilection, hence our display for his benefit outside Camero’s, but a little further investigation showed him to be in the employ of our mutual nemesis, Carl Elias.”

“Man’s got a long reach. All the way from Riker’s.”

“Bars do not a prison make, apparently,” Finch said. “If you have the resources Elias has, and can command the same amount of loyalty. Or inspire the same amount of fear.”

“Ok, so that explains you laying one on Fusco.”

“It was hardly that.”

Carter made a carry on gesture with her hand, which earned her a disapproving look. She wondered how often John got that look from him. Probably quite a lot.

“Elias appears to be trying to locate John, for reasons unknown. With recent events, he’s rather had his hands full, and I was concerned he might not be as observant as usual. And this man gave me cause for concern. He’s clearly unstable, not the type of person I would have thought Elias would have employed to reach out to John.”

Carter didn’t know she’d been holding her breath. She let it out, slowly, trying to ignore the creeping cold moving through her. “And you were worried he might do more than reach out – especially if John told him where to go.”

“Well, as you’ve seen he is large enough to be formidable.”

“Which explains why you sidelined John on this one. Does he know? Because last time you shut him out of a case, it didn’t go down so well.”

“We often have more than one number at a time, Detective. And I’m very good at multi-tasking. I’d prefer John not to have to fight someone like that, especially recovering from a dislocated shoulder and being half smothered.”

Carter winced. She could have done without that particular memory, thank you very much. “Ok, so, sorry. Look, Finch-”

He had started to turn in the direction she’d come from, and then turned back around. “Yes, detective?”

_John’s probably a little bit in love with you_ , she wanted to say. _And for a smart guy, you’re pretty dumb_.

“Where can I drop you?”

Finch gave her an address, and Carter drove him there all the while wondering when she’d turned into such a coward.

:: ::

It was after eleven when Harold finally made it back to the library. He’d taken a cab from the safe-house address he’d given to Carter and had it drop him a block away, choosing to walk the remaining distance as an extra precaution. 

He wasn’t surprised to find John sitting up waiting for him, Bear snoozing at his feet. John might never fully admit it, but Harold knew he’d chosen to acquire Bear and keep him as an extra precaution for him. But at the moment, Bear quite rightly knew which of them needed guarding the most.

“I thought you might have gone home,” he chided, lightly. “I take it Mrs Wells is safely on her way to Ohio?”

“As of six p.m., complete with new identity and a bankroll to get her started.”

Finch sighed. “Then you really should have gone home, John. Or do you want to sleep here tonight?”

“Sleepover, Finch?” John grinned. “A little old for that, aren’t we?”

Finch decided one of them acting like a child was enough and ignored the comment. He studied John, noted the absence of an ice pack and the fact that although tired he was otherwise alert.

“You haven’t taken your pain killers,” he said. “Honestly, John. Bear was here with you. You would have been perfectly safe.”

“And if something happened, if you needed me? Fusco going to have your back while you were off working your little case together?”

“Ah,” he said, wondering if Carter had informed on them or if John had simply seen straight through him. “I don’t suppose it would matter if I said that I had my reasons?”

“Salieri? I know your reasons, Finch. I guess Elias doesn’t do the same level of background checks as he used to.”

“Apparently not,” Finch said. He relaxed a little. John looked a little put out, but showed no signs of getting up, walking out and never speaking to Finch again. “I’m aware his soft spot for you occasionally shows itself in peculiar fashion, but I doubt he would send someone to find you who would be both a threat and have a propensity for poor judgement.”

“Which is why I called him.”

Finch took a moment to find his voice and keep it steady before he could speak. “You called him.”

“I don’t plan to spend the next few days looking after my shoulder, or worrying somebody starts sniffing around you because you’re with me.”

Finch wondered at that curious turn of phrase. With me. “And what did he say?”

Reese shook his head, as if not quite sure he was hearing himself right. “He wanted, believe it or not, to find out if I was ok. He’ll review his staff better _next time_. And apparently, at some point this week, the police are going to receive a tip off about the bodies of two men in the old cinema on Burman and Seventh.”

“I take it we’ll be familiar with these men.”

Reese rubbed absently at his shoulder. “Unfortunately.”

Finch went to the fridge freezer he kept in the small equipment room just off the stacks. He took out an ice pack, and picked up a bottle of water before returning to where John sat. “He seems to have approved of you helping Monsignor Delli drive those drug dealers out of his parish. And strongly disapproved of them trying to murder you in his church.”

“And next week, he’ll probably take over their operation – just keeping it away from St. Clare’s.”

Finch held out the water, and picked up the orange pill bottle. “These are not for decoration,” he said, and glared at John until he took two and swallowed them down. Then Harold arranged the ice pack over John’s shoulder. He sat down next to him.

“Do you know, and I think that Lionel may never recover from it, that Detective Carter actually thought we were...well, I suppose, going out is the best way to put it.”

He didn’t look at John, just kept going, blundering on ahead. “You see, it had been necessary...for Salieri, before we realised he was more this time than your standard predatory bully... to appear to be more than we were, and of course we didn’t know then that he was actually after you on behalf of Elias. 

“But Detective Carter was very angry on your behalf since she clearly thought I was ‘stepping out’ on you. It was all sweet, I suppose, perhaps cringe worthy, but seeing Detective Fusco’s reaction – well, I almost wish you’d been there, because you would have found it amusing – hilarious, probably, and-”

John’s hand closed suddenly on his, stopping him. “You should probably take a breath, Harold. That brain of yours needs oxygen to function. And I don’t think it’s so hilarious. Or cringe worthy.”

Harold drew in a slow, deep breath. All the things he had planned, the things he had done – great, terrible, necessary – not a one had been easy or without risk, but he had pushed forward and used the need for them to balance out the fear. After all, it was an equation in the most basic sense, _is what I’m doing worth the chance I’m about to take or what I’m about to give up_?

In each case the answer was yes, and that had helped him continue.

He wasn’t sure the answer was yes, this time, because what he wanted here was great and it was terrible and it was necessary, but the _chance_... He didn’t dare to believe he could have John. But he didn’t dare to let himself believe that John wouldn’t react badly to such an approach, and disappear again for good this time.

Harold wasn’t going to tell himself he worried about the effect on their work, how he would feel when John went to intervene in a situation or was out of contact for a while. He already felt that way, all the cost it seemed without the reward.

“ _Harold_ ,” John said, insistent. He reached over and turned Harold to face him. “Stop. Thinking.”

Harold started to speak, and John gave him a frustrated grin. 

“Ok, then,” he said, and kissed him.

It wasn’t how he’d imagined it would be – sometimes he’d thought he would encourage John to take a weekend vacation with him, heaven knew they needed one, and maybe after something to eat, he’d suggest a walk. And he’d be a little brave, maybe take John’s arm, and if that worked, just take it from there.

Sometimes he thought about just exploding against John, too much held back for too long. Concealed by the shadows among the stacks, he’d touch John everywhere.

He settled for the almost chaste kiss, John letting him own it a little. Like he knew Harold was skittish, wanting this but almost too scared to just take it. Harold reached up, hands ghosting up John’s arms before settling on his shoulders, pulling John in.

John yelped into his mouth and Harold let him go instantly.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he gasped. He grabbed the ice pack from where it had fallen to the floor, and quickly put it back on John’s shoulder.

“It’s ok,” John said, and laughed. “Actually, Harold, it is ok. Really.”

Harold sat back with a sigh. “We mentioned cringe worthy.”

“You’d rather it was Fusco?”

Harold turned enough to stare aghast at him. “I’ll put that comment down to the strength of your pain killers, Mr. Reese.”

John winced. “Maybe not call me that just after you kissed me? So maybe we try it again, just a little differently?” He yawned suddenly. “Sorry.”

“I think the only thing I should be trying is to get you to go to sleep.” He encouraged John to his feet, and into the rest room. He kept a bed there; sometimes it was too late to go home, or he or John had been hurt or exhausted and it just made sense.

For the first time he actually noticed it was a very large bed for just one person.

Apparently, John noticed too. He tugged Harold towards it.

“John,” Harold protested.

“I know, I know. Just.... You must be tired too. Come on.”

John didn’t bother to change. He just got under the covers. He patted the bed next to him but Harold could see he was almost already asleep. 

He waited a moment, then took off his jacket, shoes, waistcoat and tie. He considered changing, but....

Oh, why not?

He lay down next to John, on top of the covers, turning over to look at him. Carefully, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Good night, John,” he said quietly.

John murmured something but it was sleep talk, too low to make out. He did slide his fingers between Harold’s, and his face softened as if there was some reassurance in having Harold so close.

Harold closed his eyes, trying to just focus on the warmth of the man next to him. 

Yes, it was a huge chance he was taking, but it seemed he wasn’t taking it alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Written as my second work in the ten in ten challenge, and filling a second meme of interest prompt.  
> For the prompt "Carter mistakenly thinks Finch has taken up with Fusco and gets pissed with Finch and/or Fusco on Reese's behalf. When Finch tells Reese about it as a "funny story" (like Reese would ever be interested in him), the truth comes out."


End file.
